Dark Christmas: Chapter 12

“Drop the gun—now.”

The man’s voice is shaky but trying to sound commanding. My eyes are locked on him—and Amelia—whom he’s using as a human shield. I don’t know this man’s name, nor the name of the one whose blood is still pooling on my kitchen floor. It doesn’t matter. They made the mistake of coming into my home and threatening me—and worse, threatening her.

He will die tonight as well.

I can see desperation creeping into the man’s eyes, the slow realization that things aren’t going as planned. His original goal might have been revenge, but now he just wants to get out of here alive.

“You think I’m scared of you?” the man spits, pressing his gun into Amelia’s throat, making her wince. I can see the fear in her eyes and my heart clenches. “I’ll kill her right here, and I’ll enjoy watching you squirm before I put a bullet between your eyes.”

I feel the familiar surge of rage, a dark, deep anger that threatens to consume me. I want to take this man apart piece by piece with my bare hands, make him feel every second of his life slipping away. But I can’t rush this. I have to play it smart.

One wrong move, and Amelia’s dead.

I keep my gun trained on his face, my finger lightly resting on the trigger.

‘Let her go,’ I say, my voice calm, but my eyes full of intent. ‘You know who I am, you know what I’m capable of. Let her go, and maybe you’ll live to see another day.’

The man’s eyes flicker with anguish, his grip on Amelia tightening as his resolve starts to crack. He looks like he’s regretting every decision that brought him to this moment.

But it’s too late. He’s in too deep, and I know exactly how this plays out. When people like him get scared, they panic, and panic leads to death. I’ve seen it too many times to count.

I keep my gun trained on his face, every fiber of my body screaming to end his life right here, right now. But I can’t afford to make a mistake. The smallest misstep, and she could die. That’s not an option.

The man starts inching toward the door, dragging Amelia with him. They’re going to have to walk right past me to make their escape, which means he’s gambling that I won’t pull the trigger while he’s trying to make his move.

‘Do you really think I’m going to let you leave here with her?’

He flinches, his panic growing more obvious. He’s making the classic mistake—believing he has control when it’s actually slipping through his fingers. He’s about to do something stupid, desperate, I can feel it.

‘Here is what’s going to happen,’ the man says. ‘You are going to leave your gun here on the counter, walk into the dining room, sit your ass down, and put your hands on the table where I can see them. Then she and I are going to leave together. Once I’m sure you’re not on my ass, I will let her go.”

I keep my gun steadily trained on him, my eyes never leaving his.

“That’s not going to happen,” I reply. “You’re going to let her go, and you’re going to let her go—now.”

The man’s face twists with frustration, his voice rising. “You think this is a fucking game?” He tightens his grip on Amelia and raps her on the side of the head with his gun. She lets out a sharp cry of pain, the sound piercing through me like a knife.

My rage boils over. The world narrows, and everything else fades.

I let out a slow breath, centering myself, feeling the weight of the gun in my hand. Every muscle in my body goes still. I take aim, my focus narrowing to a pinpoint.

I pull the trigger.

The man pulls Amelia down just as I fire, and the shot hits the wall, sending a puff of drywall dust into the air. I barely react, immediately taking aim for another shot. But before I can fire, he shoves Amelia toward me, using her as a shield.

She crashes into me, harder than I expected, and we both stumble into the dining room. I catch her, my arms wrapping around her instinctively, but my eyes are locked on the man bolting for the door. Over Amelia’s shoulder, I see him making his escape.

I gently set Amelia down, feeling her heart pounding, but at least she’s safe. That’s all that matters right now. ‘Stay here,’ I murmur, and push off after him.

By the time I reach the front door, he’s already outside, his feet hitting the pavement hard and fast in a desperate attempt to escape. I charge after him but he’s fast—too fast. By the time I catch up, he’s behind the wheel of his car, slamming the door shut with a wild look in his eyes.

I could take the shot but not here. Not in the middle of the street.

He peels out, tires screeching as his car speeds off into the night. All I can do is watch him disappear into the darkness, my jaw clenched tight.

Part of me wants to grab my motorcycle and chase him down—no doubt I’d catch up—my bike being faster and more relentless than he could ever hope to be. But I can’t do that. Not with Amelia still inside, no doubt terrified after what just went down. I grit my teeth, pushing the impulse aside as I hurry back into the house.

As I pass the front door, I notice the shattered glass from the window next to it. That’s how they got in. Amateurs. If they’d been professionals, they wouldn’t have needed to break a window to get inside, and they certainly wouldn’t have let it turn into a chaotic, botched attempt like this. The plan was sloppy— sneak in and take me out while my guard was down.

They greatly miscalculated.

But none of that matters now. Only Amelia does.

I rush into the kitchen to find her in a daze, her eyes unfocused and wide, as if she’s still processing everything. Her body doesn’t appear as tense and her breathing is shallow. The adrenaline is clearly wearing off.

I crouch beside her, my voice calm and quiet. “Amelia, are you okay?”

At first, she doesn’t respond, but then her hands start to shake, her breath quickens, and I can tell panic is creeping in. Her breath comes in short, panicked bursts, and her eyes dart around the room, not really focusing on anything.

‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ she mutters, her voice shaky. ‘He, he could’ve killed me. I thought I was going to die. I really thought—’

She chokes on her words, tears spilling down her cheeks as she grips the countertop like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Her hands are trembling so badly that she starts rubbing them together as if she’s trying to get rid of the fear crawling under her skin. ‘I can’t… I can’t stop shaking. I don’t even know how to—’ She stifles a sob, her voice breaking.

I move closer, placing my hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down. “You’re safe now,” I say. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.”

She’s struggling to pull herself together, and I can see a lump forming on her head from where the man hit her. A fresh wave of rage burns through me. That motherfucker’s days are numbered. He’ll regret ever laying a hand on her. But I push that anger down for now. She needs me to be focused.

“Look at me,” I say firmly, and she meets my eyes. I make her follow my finger back and forth, checking for any signs of a concussion. She’s shaken, but responsive. “You’re okay,” I tell her.

I place one hand on her back, one on her chest, guiding her through each breath. “Breathe with me. Slow and steady.” She starts to match my rhythm, her breaths coming a little slower, more controlled.

Her body begins to relax but I don’t let go, keeping her close.

She’s slowly calming down, her breathing becoming more even as the panic fades. I’m confident she doesn’t have a concussion, but I ask anyway, needing to hear it from her. ‘Does your head still hurt?’

She nods slightly as she wipes her eyes. ‘A little, but it’s getting better.” She looks at me with a curious expression on her face. ‘How do you know how to check for a concussion?’

I pause for a moment before answering. ‘I’ve had experience with them before.’

Her eyes search mine before she finally blurts out, ‘What the hell just happened? Did you really kill someone?’

I know she has many questions, and I have to stop myself from smirking at the irony of it all. Although this night wasn’t planned, once she agreed to stay for dinner, I’d hoped to keep it simple, keep things light between us. But instead, she unexpectedly got thrown into the deep end of my world without warning. She’s already seen too much.

I see she’s waiting for an answer, but now’s not the time. Not yet. ‘I can explain, but for now, I think it’s best if you go upstairs and sit for a moment.’

She nods, and I help her to her feet, noticing that she’s handling this better than most people would.

I guide her upstairs, sitting her down on the edge of my bed. Then I grab a glass from the bathroom and fill it with water, taking it to her and placing it in her hands. She drinks slowly.

Her breathing is almost back to normal though there’s still tension in her eyes. I sit beside her, keeping my hand on her back, letting her know I’m here.

She’s quiet for a moment as she gathers herself, then she looks up at me, her voice small but determined. “I want to go home.”

I understand her need to be somewhere familiar, somewhere she deems safe. But she has no idea what she’s dealing with.

“You can’t,” I say, my voice definitive. Her eyes widen, and I see the confusion creeping back in. “That man who got away knows where you live. He and others might come for you to get to me.”

She looks away, biting her lip like she’s trying to process it all, but I don’t give her time to argue. “You have to stay here, Amelia. With me. I’m the only one who can keep you safe.”

Her head snaps back up, eyes locking on mine, and I can see defiance in her eyes. She’s not used to being told what to do, but this isn’t negotiable.

I kneel in front of her and lower my voice, leaving no room for discussion. “It’s the only way I can make sure nothing happens to you.”

She looks like she’s about to argue, but I can see the reality of the situation hitting her. She knows this isn’t something she can fight alone. She’s in real danger, and she knows I’m right.

“Stay with me,” I repeat. “I’ll keep you safe. I swear it.”